


you've gotten into my bloodstream

by korilove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eichen | Echo House, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Control, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korilove/pseuds/korilove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia dreams about Stiles in Eichen house, and they linger into her thoughts once she escapes (or the pack breaks her out). feelings and pining ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've gotten into my bloodstream

**Author's Note:**

> omg, it feels like it's been _forever_ since I posted something! I've been so creatively dead since the end of 5A, but it's so good to be back :)  
>  thanks to [anonymouses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymouses) & [scottmczall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall) for beta-ing as always♥
> 
> title of the fic is from "bloodstream" by "stateless" 
> 
> as I always say, always use protection people! do as I say and not as I write!

 

The worst part about Eichen was her dreams.

 

The high dose of hallucinogens in her bloodstream made everything blurry and silvery. Every time her eyelids would give into the shimmering haze and fall shut, there _he_ was.

 

Sometimes he was just a weight on the bed beside her, vision cutting through the dark to faintly make out his figure - the slanted nose, the jutting edges of his wrists and shoulders and hips, the unmistakeable messiness of his hair.

 

Sometimes his voice was all around her, weaving itself through her dusty memories. _“You’ve been right every time something like this has happened, okay? So don’t start doubting yourself now.” “You’re not going without me.” “And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind.” “Lydia, just focus on my voice, alright?” “And I’m also pretty sure I’m the only one who knows how smart you really are.” “How’d you do that?” “It’s not okay. All this, it’s on us. Everything that happened, everything that’s gonna happen, it’s our fault.”_

 

Sometimes she feels his touch through the wispiness, like a hand on her shoulder or his fingers lacing through hers. Sometimes it’s his lanky arms pulling her closer and somehow keeping pieces of her sanity together. Other times it’s his lips pressing back though the only kiss they’ve ever shared.

 

And more frequently than not, her re-collective dreams of the sarcastic boy she used to never give a second glance to turned into hallucinations of things she’d tried to push down and forget had crossed her mind.

 

It was slender fingers running gently over her skin. It was thin lips pressing repeatedly to her collarbone. It was her red fingernails clutching desperately to the flesh of his bicep. It was large hands roughly tugging her hair. It was sweat and sighs and the way his voice was so eloquent when curses fell from his mouth. It was hips meeting and pleasure coiling in her stomach, his name on her lips as stars implode in her irises.

 

The sensual dreams start to bleed into Lydia’s memories too, so much so that when she wakes up only to stare at the plain white walls, she wonders if maybe they could have been something. If maybe she hadn’t tried to quell the fluttering feelings in her stomach when they’d brush by each other, if she’d paid more attention, if she hadn’t been so judgmental, if her heart hadn’t been burdened with death wherever she went.

 

So when she loses track of time and loses herself to the dreams, she doesn’t see it as much of a loss anymore.

 

***

 

When she finally does come to and snaps her eyes open, the rush of reality hits her like a freight train. The world seems to click back into focus, as if she’d been looking at the world through a cloudy filter. She’s surrounded by brick walls and dim lighting, metal tables and a sense of familiarity - the animal clinic.

 

Lydia’s ears register the beeping of medical equipment and she feels along her arm until her fingers find an IV needle in the crook of her elbow. She tries to sit up but her body feels too stiff, slight jabs of pain shoot up her back when she tries. Her tongue is sandpaper against the inside of her cheek, and her throat feels like it’s closed over.

 

She briefly scans the room and finds it empty. Lydia realizes she’s lying on one of Deaton’s operating tables, but the IV pump looks like it’s from the hospital. She sees Scott’s leather jacket on the other operating table to her left, along with a set of keys.

 

Deciding the only way she’ll be able to get attention is to make noise, Lydia’s fingers pry the needle from her vein, a small clink sounding out when she drops it on the table. The pump starts to beep louder and more frequently, until the door of the office opens and four people come pouring in.

 

First is Scott, a frantically worried look on his face. Followed close behind is Stiles - looking very similar to what he had in her dreams, only less silvery and extremely panicked. Next is Kira, hands on her belt and a hard look in her eyes. Last is Malia, eyes glowing blue as she quickly scans the room.

 

“Lydia?” Stiles reaches her first, his voice almost a tremble with fear. His hands immediately go for the hand she has pressed to her elbow, and Lydia has to fight to keep tears from filling her eyes. Scott lets out a breath of relief and picks up the IV form the floor, jostling some drawers before opening another needle and threading it through a different vein. Kira smiles and a single tear tracks its way down her cheek. Malia hangs behind, but her face wipes of the defensive look that had just been there.

 

Lydia tries to respond, but the only sound she makes is something garbled and scratchy. Kira grabs a water bottle from her backpack and helps her friend drink from it. Lydia nods appreciatively.

 

Lydia has so many questions swirling in her suddenly clear mind that she wants to ask. What made them come for her? How long had it been since she’d seen them? How long has she been in here? Is she still crazy?

 

Instead she hears a throat clearing and her friends turn their heads toward the door. Melissa and Deaton are standing in the doorway, watching the scene.

 

“I think we need to give Lydia a bit of space, yes?” Melissa says, pointing her thumb behind her while looking at the rest of the pack. Kira pats Lydia’s hand and she and Malia leave the room. Scott and Stiles stand their ground, Scott staying at her left beside the IV pump and Stiles still rubbing soft circles into her palm with his thumb.

 

“Guys, I’m just going to check her over.” Melissa urges, giving her son and his best friend a stern look. Scott finally nods and rubs Lydia’s shoulder before moving away, but Stiles still doesn’t budge.

 

“Stiles,” Melissa tries again.

 

“Melissa, please don’t make me leave her.” Is all he says. There’s a roughness in his voice and if Lydia wasn’t so sure she was still feeling after effects of her drugged up dreams, she may have thought he could feel what she was feeling too.

 

Melissa’s eyes shift to Lydia and she tries to give her a look that conveys “ _It’s alright_.”

 

The nurse nods and checks her vitals, asking her various questions to which Lydia either nods or shakes her head. Stiles’ stays silent the entire time, but Lydia can feel him vibrating through his hands, which haven’t left her since he first entered the room. Melissa finishes her examination and turns up the dial on the IV.

 

Lydia immediately starts to feel groggy again, her heart speeding up. The cloudiness behind her eyes returns and she can’t help but panic. She squeezes desperately on Stiles’ fingers until she slips into another dream world where she can have him for a little while.

 

***

 

“ _Lydia._ ”

 

Stiles’ voice is wispy and all around her. She flits her eyes open to see his closed eyelids; his head bending forward until his lips urgently press to hers, and Lydia presses back. Her hands are weaving through the dark hairs at the back of his head and her legs grasp tightly around his hips. She can feel him grinding against her center and the cool metal of the front door on her back.

 

Her hands scramble and fumble with his belt, then easily finding the zipper and shoving his underwear down. She looks back up at him and their eyes meet, locked together as he holds her hips in a vice and sinks into her.

 

Lydia breathes out sharply, choking with the sensations. Everything is clinging and desperate, lips grazing and hands grasping and relentless movements that blend together until the world slips out of reach.

 

“ _Stiles._ ”

 

***

 

When Lydia slowly comes back to consciousness, she’s hyper aware that Stiles is still at her bedside.

 

She can feel his hand resting on top of hers, the stifling heat radiating off his palm making her hand clammy. When she opens her eyes she finds that Stiles has passed out while watching over her - his head is slumped onto the operating table and his breath softly ghosts over the exposed skin of her arm.

 

Lydia tries to speak again, but it only comes out as a rough whisper. She jerks her hand, trying to move Stiles so she can try to get answers to the questions in her head. But the boy doesn’t move, only mumbling softly.

 

Lydia musters up whatever strength she’s been gathering and pushes it in her fingers, which somehow violently shakes. Stiles wakes with a start, eyes wide and a confused mumble passing through his lips.

 

He looks up at Lydia and stands, moving closer to her. “Are you okay?”

 

Lydia contemplates it in her mind. She wants to nod yes, it’s easier to pretend that she is okay, even if physically it is true. But instead of nodding, she merely shrugs her shoulders.

 

Stiles offers her a weak smile before scooting his stool closer so he can sit and talk to her at the same time. “Okay, just tell me you aren’t in any pain, at least?”

 

Lydia tries to respond, but once again her voice gets lost in her throat. Stiles pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to her.

 

Lydia furiously types out her response on the notepad before handing it back to him. “ _Thank you. I’m fine. Physically at least._ ”

 

Stiles looks up from his phone and nods. He hands the phone back to her and reaches across the table to pick up Kira’s water bottle she’d left behind. He offers it to her and Lydia smiles.

 

“ _How long was I in Eichen?_ ” Lydia types out, barreling ahead in getting her answers.

 

She watches Stiles read her question while she takes a drink of water, and sees his features screw up with guilt and a twinge of pain. “6 months.” He says, so low she might not have caught it if she hadn’t been waiting for the answer.

 

Lydia nods slowly before reaching back for the phone. Stiles doesn’t let go of it though, as if he knows her next question without her even having to ask it. “Malia managed to get details out of Theo about what he'd injected you with when he accessed your memories. It was never that anything was wrong with you." He launches into the explanation, his voice ragged. "I posed as a patient for a month before I could get the others in, and we broke you out. Deaton and Melissa have been counteracting the Mercury in your system ever since."

 

Lydia goes for the phone again, typing out furiously. " _How long have I been out?_ "

 

Stiles blows out a sigh when he reads the message. "About a week."

 

Lydia covers his hand with hers and tries to give him a reassuring smile (she's sure it probably looks more like a grimace).

 

" _You went back in there for me?_ " She types out slowly, a little unsure she wants to bring it up. When she hands the phone to Stiles she hangs onto every movement of his eyes, watches him digest the words.

 

The features of his face soften when he looks up, the screen illuminating it to almost the color everything had been in her dreams.  He nods slowly, dropping his arm to the side. It hadn't exactly been a secret between them how much either one of them despised Eichen, and Lydia's heart thumps faster with the knowledge that he'd done it for her.

 

"Well, yeah. I mean - I was the only one who'd been admitted before, and I knew how to handle the orderlies - you know they’re crazier than anyone else in there - and it’s not exactly much of a stretch for me to be insane -" He cuts off mid sentence and looks up at her, pausing for a second and a small smile donning his lips.  "And I couldn't leave you in there."

 

Lydia can’t help but smile back and gives a small nod. “ _Thank you, Stiles._ ”

 

He reads the text and laughs lightheartedly - something that seems so foreign because it had been too long since she’d heard him laugh. “Don’t mention it.” He shrugs it off before hoisting himself up onto the operating table with her, sitting in the space left by her hips.

 

“ _Where is my mom?_ ” Lydia types out.

 

Stiles’ face screws up in a picture of guilt at her latest question. “She doesn’t know we broke you out. She only knows that you left Eichen.” He says softly - as if he’s worried the answer will break her.

 

He may have been right.

 

Lydia lets the words sink in. _Her mother thinks she’s crazy. Just like her grandmother._ She shuts her eyes tight and turns away from Stiles, but she’s unable to conceal the hot tear that escapes from her eyes.

 

And then a calloused thumb is gently swiping the tear away from her cheek, lingering a little too long. Lydia opens her eyes and is met with the amber of Stiles’ irises. “She’s not right, you know.” He whispers, his thumb falling off the apple of her cheek and resting on the edge of her jaw.

 

Lydia quickly nods in response, but even though she wants to believe the words, it doesn’t feel that way in her heart. Ever since she’d been bitten her life had been turned upside down - and as much as she wanted to use these bizarre powers for good, in the end she still didn’t understand them, and she was beginning to think she never would.

 

“Lydia, look at me.”

 

Stiles tilts her jaw in his direction, and her eyes obey, shifting her gaze from the sheet laid across her to Stiles’ face. “She’s wrong. You’re just as sane as I am.”

 

A beat passes between them, before the hilarity sets in. Lydia can’t help but laugh at that, eyebrows quirking. Stiles cringes and snorts into his lap. “Okay, probably not the best way to try and convince you, sorry.”

 

Lydia shrugs, but she doesn’t wipe the smile off her face.  She goes for the phone that Stiles placed in her lap, typing out “ _You didn’t have to do it, you know._ ” And turns it around to show Stiles.

 

“Yeah, I did." He says softly after reading it. Lydia raises an eyebrow - Stiles doesn't really do something unless he wants to. "You’re a part of the pack." He adds on, as if it were an afterthought.

 

" _So you'd do it for anyone in the pack? Risk your mental sanity and scarring yourself for life?_ "

 

Stiles looks up from the cell phone screen. "You aren't just anyone, Lyds."

 

Lydia's pulse quickens at his words, her skin hypersensitive to where he's touching her face. And then he's softly pulling her forward; eyes are closing, breathing hitched, anticipation mounting and Lydia's lips buzzing as she waits to feel their mouths touch.

 

But it never happens.

 

There's a knock at the door and Melissa comes in swiftly, her son trailing behind her. Stiles quickly jerks away and swivels around to the doorway, and Lydia swears internally.

 

_We'll never get this right._

 

***

 

A few days pass and Lydia's voice returns, the Mercury starting to ebb from her system. Seeing as her mother still doesn't know that she was poisoned (let alone not _actually_ clinically insane), the Stilinskis put her up in their guest room until everything blows over.

 

Lydia can't walk yet, so the sheriff helps her up the stairs, and an IV monitor is set up next to her bed. Kira and Malia offer to stay with her - which surprises Lydia considering the last time she'd seen Malia and Stiles they weren't exactly speaking - but Lydia insists on being alone.

 

Her days are spent mostly ensuring she's ready for her first semester at Stanford (she'd apparently received the acceptance letter a month ago!), and her nights wondering about the boy in his bed a few rooms over.

 

Her drug induced dreams from her stint in Eichen still flash before her eyes at times, and she feels a real sense of longing in her heart for them. For memories of a boy she'd been able to be herself with, gotten to know on a deeper level, someone she'd really connected with.

 

Even if it had all been a fantasy.

 

Lydia finds she wishes she could get to know the real Stiles that way; and it makes her heart ache even more for him.

 

More than anything though, Lydia’s starting to get restless. The last time she remembers being self sufficient was in the sheriff’s station before everything blew up. During the day when the rest of the Stilinski house is empty, Lydia takes her IV pump for a tentative walk of the upstairs floor.

 

She inspects the portraits on the walls of the hallway; family photo around when Stiles must have just been starting school has the Sheriff smiling wider than she’s ever seen, and there’s a certain life to Claudia’s eyes Lydia swears she recognizes. There’s a few of Stiles’ school pictures on the wall, and one of the sheriff when he graduated from the police academy.

 

She does this a few times before getting caught - the sheriff and Stiles insisting that she stay in bed. Which only serves to fuel her need to do it even more.

 

The weeks pass and Lydia purposely waits on the top of the stairs for one of them to come home, scold her and get the venom that had been absent for so long to pump in her bloodstream again. Arguments and banter light a small fire in her that she honestly had missed about herself.

 

One of the last weeks of school, the restless energy in her body boils over. Lydia walks the length of the small upstairs hallway a few times before her restlessness outweighs her sense of propriety, and she pushes open the door of Stiles’ bedroom.

 

It looks similar to the last time she’d been in his bedroom; various posters stuck to the walls, bed half made, a pile of dirty laundry at the foot of his bed, papers strewn across his desk that obscure his macbook from view, the clue board just beyond his desk. What was odd about the board was that there were no lines of red tape connecting things together, no words written in his terrible handwriting.

 

Perplexed, Lydia shuffles closer to the clue board. She can make out the dry-erase marker residue, where the words had been and then hastily wiped away. She reaches out her hand and traces the top of the board (which almost has her on her tip toes), where what appears to be her name had been written.

 

Suddenly, Lydia starts to wonder what it was like for everyone else while she was in Eichen. Did the pack slave over a way to get her out? Did they miss her? Or did it take them weeks to even figure out that she wasn’t crazy?

 

Lydia shakes her head and moves around the rest of the room. She inspects the posters she’s seen a million times, the various papers strewn across the desk, the colored strings and pictures that had been missing from the board she finds in the trash.

 

Which just so happens to be where her hands are when the front door of the Stilinski house opens and closes, followed by the scampering and shuffling of feet, which Lydia knows to belong to Stiles.

 

Panicked, Lydia scrambles off Stiles’ bedroom floor, her legs moving as fast as they could to avoid the certain awkward encounter of Stiles asking why she was in his bedroom in the first place.

 

She gets as far as the doorway before the IV in her arm goes taut - tearing halfway out of her vein and sending the IV pump screeching across the floor of Stiles’ bedroom. Lydia winces and grabs a hold of the tubing and yanks on it, desperate to leave the room before Stiles makes it up the stairs and catch her doing -

 

What _is_ she doing exactly?

 

Lydia manages to get into the hallway and close the door just as Stiles finishes leaping up the top of the stairs. The look on his face goes from content to puzzled to worried in a matter of seconds.

 

“Lydia, what are you doing?”

 

Lydia sighs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “What does it look like I’m doing, Stiles?”

 

“Well, it looks like you’re up and out of bed and walking down the hallway, which - let me remind you for the fiftieth time - is a very, _very_ bad idea.” He retorts, crossing his arms to mirror her stance.

 

_Breathe, Lydia. He didn’t see you coming out of his room._

 

Lydia lets the panic ebb away from her, ignoring the judgement coming from the boy in front of her. She says nothing but clicks her tongue before turning to go back to the guest room. Stiles catches her wrist before she’s able to move away though.

 

“Come on, Lyds. It’s dangerous for you to be up and walking already!”

 

Lydia wrenches her arm from his grasp and ignores the vibrating sensation in her body that stems from where he’d been touching her. “I’m _fine_.”

 

“No, you aren’t. You’re pale as hell and look like you just finished running a mile.” Stiles says, his hands opening up in front of him in frustration.

 

“Stiles, I’ve been bedridden for weeks in your guest room and for 6 months before that I was also in the confines of a bed at Eichen. I think I’m allowed to stretch my legs!”

 

“Lyds, you were mentally compromised by a psychotic sadist who messed with your mind and put you in the equivalency of a mental coma for half a year! You are supposed to be _resting_!”

 

“Stiles you can't even stay put when you're asleep, there’s _no way_ we are having this conversation!” She throws back at him as she effortlessly walks back to the guest room.

 

“You’re not fine!” He calls after her, but he doesn’t follow.

 

The second she’s back in the bed, she knows he’s right. She suddenly feels sleepy, the weight of exhaustion leading her down into the mattress until she succumbs to it.

 

_Damn him._

 

***

 

When Lydia wakes up next, her new phone tells her she’s been asleep for a full 32 hours. Cursing in her head, she throws back the covers on the bed and swings her feet over the edge, letting them dangle there.

 

Something about Lydia’s afternoon scourge of Stiles’ room has her mind reeling. Why is the board empty? It should be filled with pictures of Theo and whoever he was working for besides the Dread Doctors. It should have connections with the Desert Wolf and any other evil villain present in Beacon Hills at the moment.

 

And something else is nagging at her in the back of her mind, but she can’t seem to get a feel for what it is specifically.

 

_I should just go back into his room and keep looking._

 

No, that’s the last thing she should do. She already feels dirty going through his things like a jealous ex-girlfriend (not that they’d ever date anyway).

 

No, She was going to shower and forget about Stiles’ bedroom and his lack of detective deducing.

 

***

 

Lydia gets halfway through her shower when her resolve breaks.

 

When she’s dried off and dressed, she opens the door of the bathroom, steam curling out and a wall of coolness hitting her skin. She shivers a bit, but makes her way down the hall to Stiles’ bedroom.

 

Lydia hesitates when her hand is curled around the doorknob - she really should just take the high road and leave whatever this nagging feeling is behind. Just bury it like she’s buried everything else this past year. The twinge of sadness she still feels every time she walks past Allison’s old locker. The detached feeling that creeps up on her just before the urge to scream higher than the heavens. The uneasy punch to the gut feeling in her stomach when she looks at the lacrosse field. The ache in her heart when she feels Stiles’ eyes on her, or when their hands brush each other.

 

Taking a deep breath, the turns the doorknob and the door swings open.

 

The room looks nearly untouched since she’d been in it last - the clue board is in the exact same position, there’s still a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, the bed is still unmade and the posters on the walls are still tacked up every which way.

 

What’s different is his desk is completely cleaned off, and his trash can is empty.

 

Lydia clicks her tongue in annoyance. Either Stiles decided to clean up a bit, or he realized that she’d been in his bedroom.

 

Cursing, Lydia drags the IV pump behind her, settling into the chair in front of the desk. She was going to have to get answers a different way, then.

 

She pauses for a moment, stretching out her fingers before lifting the screen of the Macbook in front of her. She’d cracked the answer keys to a deadpool created by a deranged banshee who'd wanted to kill her friends. She could definitely guess Stiles' password.

 

Right?

 

Lydia sighs, shaking off any of her self doubt before pressing the power button. She stifles a laugh when the lock screen comes up: it’s a rather silly picture of Stiles and Scott when they were freshmen, so Stiles’ hair is buzzed off and Scott’s is hanging in his eyes. But that’s not what’s jarring about the image - it’s that they look _happy_.

 

Lydia blows out a breath and moves the mouse into the password field. Her fingers hover over the keys as she searches her mind. What would Stiles use as his password?

 

She tries a few simple things at first - his and scott’s jersey numbers, his and malia’s anniversary date, chewbaccad2, scottstillneedstowatchstarwars2k15.

 

Lydia starts to get a bit flustered after about an hour of trying and failing to guess Stiles’ password, the annoyance bubbling steadily in her veins. _Stop overthinking it._

 

Then it dawns on her. Stiles is clever, but he’s not that complex.

 

Her fingers slink over the keyboard, typing out the long, extremely embarrassing, and very polish birth name Stiles had been so unlucky to be blessed with. Which grants her access to his hard drive.

 

She spends a few hours pouring over the contents of his personal computer, skipping over the school files and _questionable_ browsing history, and heading straight for his research and correspondence. There’s a few dozen pages of research on Eichen, different mental diseases and their symptoms, anything and everything to do with Dr. Valack.

 

She then moves onto his email server, looking through his sent folder she finds messages between he and Malia - and what appears to be an argument of him going in undercover in Eichen about 6 weeks ago, followed by another email from Malia that make it look like things really had ended between them.

 

Lydia’s heartbeat quickens at that thought, but she barrels through her search through Stiles’ computer. The last thing she pulls up is a picture of herself in an unnamed folder.

 

It’s from before Allison was killed at Oak Creek. She remembers because she’s wearing one of Allison’s blouses in the picture. She doesn’t remember anyone taking it, but that’s not what strikes her about it. She’s smiling, looking away from the camera. In the background is Stiles, giving her a look she’s only seen a handful of times.

 

Once, after she kissed him in the boy’s locker room - her heart slamming against her ribcage and her lips buzzing with promise. Twice, she’s laying on her stomach on the bed that’s currently behind her, his fingers unwind a piece of string from her index finger. Third, his arms pull her close and she’s wrapped in blue flannel, filled with the scent of his laundry detergent as her mind goes blank.

 

“Lydia?”

 

Stiles voice breaks her out of memory lane, a panic rising in her throat as her head spins around. He’s just entering from the doorway, and comes up short when he makes it about a foot from the desk. His eyes dart from her to the computer screen behind her, then back again.

 

“W-what are you doing?” He stammers, but doesn’t move.

 

Lydia licks her lips and mashes them together. “I’m-” She presses her lips together again. “Uh - this isn’t what it looks like.”

 

Stiles’ eyebrows raise. “It looks like you’re snooping through my computer.”

 

Lydia closes her eyes and suddenly wishes she were anywhere but here. “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.” She says under her breath before opening her eyes.

 

“ _Why_ are you going through my computer exactly?” Stiles questions, and something about his tone makes her balk.

 

“Why do you have a _picture of me_ that I didn’t even know existed on your computer, exactly?” She lobs back to him, crossing her arms in front of her.

 

“I-” He stutters, failing to give her an answer.

 

Lydia gives him a look that says “ _Game, set, match._ ”

 

Stiles sighs and rubs his hands over his face before leaning onto his desk, still facing her. “That picture came from Allison’s phone okay?”

 

Lydia feels like the floor is going to drop out from beneath her feet. “What are you talking about?”

 

Stiles crouches down so he’s looking right at her, his long fingers millimeters from touching her knees. “I stole this picture off of Allison’s phone after Oak Creek. It was in evidence lock up and I was there after school one day waiting for my dad and I was just scrolling through it and -”

 

“Ally took this?” Lydia whispers, diverting her eyes from Stiles back to the picture on his computer screen.

 

“Yeah, she did.” Stiles says, reaching up to turn her face back towards him.

 

“Why do you have it?” It isn’t a demand, but there’s a hint of the need to know behind Lydia’s question.

 

Stiles gets up and starts pacing in front of his bed for a moment or two, stopping once he starts to speak. “You know, I asked myself that question a lot. It’s not like it was the only picture on Ally’s phone - and I know we were all dealing with our grief and maybe I was trying to hold onto our friendship. But then we got over all of “ He waves his hands, gesturing that he means the nogitsune. “and I still kept it. I was with Malia, but I kept it. I’d like to say I forgot about it and it’s just on here because I didn’t remember to delete it but - _God_.”

 

He stops pacing for a second and comes to a stop in front of her, rubbing his hands over his face before continuing his spiel. “Do you remember what it was like before all of this? It was just you and me and Scott and Allison against alpha packs and druids and even through all of _that_  - things were good! I mean sure Scott and Allison had fallen apart and I was in love with you -” He pauses, like the statement confuses him. “Was, am, whatever - and people were getting murdered - or sacrificed, details - but things with us were just so much easier. Do you remember what that was like?”

 

A beat passes between them. “You - _love_ me?” Lydia had always assumed he’d had feelings for her back then, but now?

 

Stiles’ face goes blank, a slight panic flashing across his face. “Uh - I mean, maybe-”

 

Lydia stands and grabs Stiles’ flannel by either sides of the collar. “ _Stiles._ ” She tries to even her voice but her heart is racing so fast she can’t. “Did you just say that you’re in love with me?” She whispers.

 

Stiles says nothing, and then slowly he nods, a dumbfounded look on his features as he searches her face. A breath falls from his mouth, ragged and unsteady, and Lydia only realizes she feels it pass over her lips because she’s leaning towards him.

 

She looks up into his eyes for a moment before looking back down at his mouth. His tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips, another tickle of breath leaving them. Everything in her body - every nerve, every cell - is begging her to tilt her head upwards and press their lips together. It's something she's dreamed about for months and now that the opportunity is here, she hesitates.

 

Lydia trembles but stays frozen in place. The seconds seem to stretch out into hours as she and Stiles shared bated breaths, waiting for the other to make a move. It feels more intimate than anything else has in her entire life - probably because every choice she’s made has been well thought out and calculated and weighed out. Lydia Martin was not someone who acted on impulse, ever (other than when she kissed Stiles in the locker room last year, but who’s counting?).

 

But instead of following her head, Lydia goes with her heart, leaping off the edge of reason and lilts up to softly press her lips to Stiles’.

 

Stiles makes a quiet “ _mmph_ ” sound against her lips, the pads of his fingers hovering just above her jaw. Their lips slowly pull apart and his eyes open and for a second, he looks exactly like the boy from her dreams - but there’s no silvery aura, no haze to focus through.

 

There’s just Stiles. And Lydia. _Stiles and Lydia._

 

And then his fingers are lacing through her hair and he surges forward, mouths softly meeting again. He pecks at her lips until she releases her grip on his shirt and slides her arms around his neck. Everything is excruciatingly slow and soft, his tongue tastes hers tentatively and her head is spinning, his nose nuzzles hers and they’re breathing the same air and Lydia completely loses herself. Where does he end and she begin?

 

And then her legs are wrapping around his waist and Stiles grips to her tighter - one of his hands grazes the skin across her hip and up towards the small of her back. He backs up slowly until her knees are touching the sheets of his bed, and there’s a yank on her left arm.

 

Swearing she pulls away from Stiles and her fingers pry the tubing out of the needle in her arm. “Sorry.” When she looks back at Stiles, it’s as if suddenly she’s something breakable. His eyes flit towards the IV pump and then back to her, his touch softens and starts to fall away from her skin.

 

“Stiles, it’s okay.” She whispers, her hands grasping the sides of his face. “I’m okay.” She offers him a small smile, trying to reassure him.

 

Stiles licks his lips - which are reddened and fuller than usual - and slowly nods before he leans back into her, kissing her just as before.

 

Lydia’s heart flutters and if she weren’t so consumed by the feelings she’d scold herself, but everything is _him_. His scent, his touch, his sounds, are all intoxicating and it’s all she can do but hold on for dear life.

 

And then he’s lifting her shirt off her body, his large hands slowly caressing the skin as he goes. Once it’s over her head, her fingers work on his flannel button down, careful not to pop a button as she sheds him of the fabric, kissing her way down his stomach.

 

“ _Oh my god._ ” He breathes out.

 

She can feel him growing harder underneath her, and it takes all of her self control not to grind her hips into it. There’s something glorious of the slow pace they’ve set; everything is maddening and so deliberate Lydia feels like her heart could break with just the wrong move.

 

“I’ve waited for this for _so long_.” Stiles whispers against her skin, leaning them to the right so her back is against his sheets. His fingers dip into the waistband of the sweats she’s wearing - which just so happen to be _his_ since all of her designer clothes are out of reach back at her mom’s - and slides them down her hips, thighs, calves, feet. He crawls his way back up her body and presses their lips together, hands glide over the sensitive skin of her neck and over the swell of her breasts, then wrap around her to unclasp the bra between them.

 

Lydia’s already breathless, and all they’ve done is kiss and undress each other. She looks up at him and his eyes are filled with awe, taking her in. “ _You’re so beautiful._ ” His voice is soft, but he says it like he honestly cannot believe she’s here, that this is happening.

 

She gets the feeling.

 

Lydia leans up and kisses him again, her hands reaching for the top of his jeans. There’s only so much slow she can take before the fire that burns in her belly needs quenching.

 

Her fingers deliberately brush against his thighs as she shoves his jeans and boxers down, a soft laugh passing through his lips that she breathes in. She makes a note to remember he’s ticklish there.

 

Stiles runs his hands down the tops of her legs, parting them slightly so he can settle between them. Fingers feel through the fabric of her underwear, teasing before they hook through the top of the thong, still not quickening his movements as he drags them down and away, dropping them to the floor where the rest of their clothes have gathered in a pile.

 

“ _Lyds,_ ” He whispers, but Lydia shakes her head.

 

“Shh,” She shushes him, touching her forefinger to his lips. “It’s okay.” She whispers back, pulling him closer to her. His legs scramble to position him so he’s flush against her, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he can find as their hips meet and he sinks into her.

 

They both shudder with the sensation, hands grasping onto each other as Stiles groans against her chest and Lydia relishes the feeling. It’s everything she had been feeling through a drug haze, but it’s so much _more_. It’s so real and raw and exposed, travelling over the expanse of her and welling up in her throat. It’s things she wants to say and whisper and _confess_ , but they get lost in the translation of movements. Her hips meet his repeatedly and it’s infuriating, excruciating, maddeningly _good_.

 

Stiles can’t seem to keep his mouth shut - his babbling spills over his lips, whispers of _God_ and _Jesus_ and _Lydia_ combined with swears of _fuck_ create filthy prayers Lydia couldn’t forget even if she wanted to.

 

The fire low in her belly is no longer burning, just simmering slowly - matching the pace of their thrusts and kisses. It’s so close to boiling over and Lydia clutches desperately to the skin of his arm, so hard she’s scared she’ll draw blood. Stiles kisses her fiercer somehow, his touch and pace driving her closer to the boiling point until it spills over - his name on her lips as she breathily comes around him. He isn’t far behind her, waves of ecstasy still flowing through her when he gives a final thrust and groan, combined with another swear. He holds onto her so tightly she knows they’ll be a bruise in the morning, but she can’t bring herself to care.

 

With a sigh, Stiles drops onto the mattress beside her, the features of his face relaxed, but there’s still a goofy smile etched with his mouth. He pulls her closer and nuzzles into her, skin to skin, their hearts returning to normal pulse together.

 

“You’re in love with me too, aren’t you?” He whispers.

 

Lydia knows she doesn’t have to answer, but Lord she knows it’s true. Nodding, she whispers back. “I love you too.”

  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [savingsciles](savingsciles.tumblr.com) on tumblr!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought as a comment, kudos, or talk to me on tumblr! :)


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